


Second Chances Are Weapons

by mordredslullabies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordredslullabies/pseuds/mordredslullabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending of sorts for the Merlin finale.</p><p>Arthur is still dead.  But maybe there's another ending for Merlin and Morgana.</p><p>The dragon may or may not be as annoying as he is in the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chances Are Weapons

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a lot of varying emotions. And I took them out on this story. Sorry.

Magic bursts out of Morgana’s fingertips, golden hellfire lashing out around her.  The gold lights up her face, casts a shadow in her eyes, sets the wind blowing through her dark hair,  Golden after golden tendril shoots out of her palms striking down man after man in her fury.  She is vengeance personified.  She is livid.  She is murderous.

She is exhausted.  Everything she’s done…it’s been for her kind.  And time after time she’s failed.  Because of Emrys, she thinks bitterly.  He’s fucked up every single one of her plans in his quest to save her dear brother.  She deserves the throne of Camelot, not that snivelling murderer.  Arthur plunders her kind ravenously all the while harbouring a sorcerer to use at his side.  It makes her sick to think of someone so corrupt, so intent on thwarting all her attempts.

With a vicious growl she plunges Mordred’s sword into the earth at her feet and turns on her heel, stalks away from the murdered youth.  Everything she needs to feel whole is gone, out of her grasp.  Again.  No matter how many people she kills, no matter how many people she turns against her dear brother, she stills fails.  She never gets back those years when she was lost.

She can still remember the absolute terror of living under the reign of a tyrannical king who would have burnt her at the stake if he could have imagined her magic.  She can still remember the betrayal of her friends, who heartlessly left her in the dark, lied to her for their own selfish reasons, stole for her what was rightfully hers.  It’s because of them she had been afraid.  She had been stalked, pursued, a price on her head, an enemy of the throne.  She’d lost all those she held dear.  She’d been forced two years in a hole of abysmal darkness.  She’d been beaten, bruised, abused.  And no one gave a fuck.  They twisted the knife in her gut and forced her into the villain.  All she wanted was to live in peace.  She wanted justice.  She wanted someone to pay for their crimes, and she was punished for trying to live her life according to her own rules.

She still doesn’t understand.  Why is she condemned for just having magic?  She was fucking born with it!  Why is she branded as evil while her brother, the hypocrite, was born of magic?  When magic was revered before her darling father’s ego got in the way, she would have been a court sorcerer.  But then, out of boredom or some twisted excuse not to take responsibility for his actions, her entire existence was made illegal.  She was backed into a corner.  She was forced to kill in order to live.  She was forced into a hovel, forced into everything, if she was being honest.  She’s never had a mind of her own.  She has been their drone from birth until her end, and it wasn’t fair.  Morgana just wants it to be over.  She wants to be free.

Mordred is dead.  Morgause is dead.  There is no one left she can rely on.  She isn’t strong enough to take the throne herself anymore.  She is never going to have peace of mind.  She is never going to be free.

Morgana rides out, rides fast and hard, still seething as hot tears spill down her cheeks.  All her sacrifice has been for nothing.  She is nothing but an offering to the Sidhe, a body waiting to rot at the bottom of the Isle of the Blessed.  She makes the journey, never stopping, a woman on her mission towards death.  And won’t Camelot just rejoice at the news!  Gwen, that traitorous bitch wearing her crown, will probably hold a feast, and the knight will collect their spoils.  Such joy at her impending doom seems wrong.

Morgana doesn’t know how long she travels for.  It is late morning when she reaches the Isle and finds she isn’t alone.  As she touches shore, she can make out the shape of a great dragon in the distance, the silhouette of a man.  Her expression hardens.  Only one man can talk to dragons.  Emrys.

The two turn around on her, but Emrys does not charge at her with his magic like she expects.  Instead he is resigned, weary.  There are tear tracks dried on his face.  He just stares at her with sorrow.

“Hello, young witch,” the dragon says to her.

She looks up at the golden dragon.  “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” She spits out, voice dripping of disdain.

The dragon chuckles.  “Perhaps I am.  My time will come soon.  As will yours, young witch.  Your brother is dead.  Your mission is complete.”

Morgana’s jaw hardens.  “Good,” she says.

“How can you say that?” Merlin speaks, words soft but hard, carrying his age and power.  “How can you have such hate for someone with so much compassion, Morgana?”

“My brother showed no compassion for me!  His affection was shown by sending his knights to scour the lands and bring back my head on a spike!”

“He would have given you a chance, if you had let him.”

“Did he give you a chance, _Emrys_?”  She stresses the sorcerer’s Druid name.  “Did he learn of your secret from the beginning or did you have to wait till he was on his deathbed to accept you for who you are?”

“That is none of your concern,” he says.

“Oh, I think it is.  We were friends once, Emrys.  Why did you not share your secret with me when you had the chance?  Why did you allow me to become the enemy?  You could have saved me and yet you condemned me to my fate!”

“Because I was scared!” Merlin says, taking a step towards Morgana.  She can see his hands shake.

“So was I,” she whispers.  “Do you want to kill me, Emrys?” she asks.

“What purpose would that serve now?” Merlin sighs.  “Arthur is already dead.”

“Because you’re my doom.  And I want to die.  I’m giving you the chance to fulfil your destiny.”

Her words surprise Merlin.  “You want to die?” He asks.

“I am alone.  Of course I want to die.  Can you think of no crueller fate than living a life alone?”

“No, I can’t,” he says.

The dragon chuckles then.  Both sorcerers turn to stare at the hulking creature.  “Well, this is a turn of events, isn’t it?  The prophecies did not foretell this one.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asks.

“Arthur is the Once and Future King.  He is destined to be laid to rest in the Isle of the Blessed, safe until Albion needs him again.  And then he shall rise again and reunite a dying Albion.  It was to be your destiny, young warlock, to live until Arthur comes back.  You were to fight at his side.  And once Albion is united, you were both to die.

“But Morgana is the Last of the High Priestesses, and she has a place safe for her in the Isle as well, to rise again as a second chance.

“You, young warlock, are the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth.  If you kill the witch now, the Sidhe will place you beside them in the Isle, to rise with them.  it is your choice, to live without Arthur, or to die at his side and rise again years later.”

Merlin sighs.  “I am tired, Kilgharrah.  I do not wish to go on without him.  I made him a promise once.  I said I would fight with him or die at his side.  And I intend to keep that promise.”

“If you do this, it cannot be undone.  There is no guarantee that when Morgana arises, she will be different.  She might still try to kill Arthur.  She might be the reason Albion needs reuniting.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

The dragon bows his head and Merlin places his hand on it, strokes his scales.  “It has been a pleasure to have known you, young warlock.”

“I will not forget you, my friend,” Merlin says before turning to Morgana.  Kilgharrah rises his large golden wings and flies away.  Morgana and Merlin are alone, facing each other.

“Are you going to kill me now?” Morgana asks.

Merlin lifts Excalibur, Arthur’s sword, and examines it.  “His sword was forged in a dragon’s breath.  It should kill you.”

Merlin takes steps until he is standing in front of Morgana, close enough to see the fear in her green eyes.  He can see the sadness, the shame.  Not for what she’d done, but how her life has turned out.  “I’m sorry for the part I played in your downfall, Morgana,” he says.

Morgana smiles wryly at him.  “Apology not accepted.”

“I hope we will be friends again in our next life.”

And with that he plunges the sword deep into Morgana’s heart.  While hot pain bursts all around her.  She chokes on her own blood and falls to her knees.  Merlin kneels beside her, holds her in his arms as she gasps for breath, just like he had done when he poisoned her all those years ago.  She doesn’t know if she can ever forgive him for his trespasses against her.

Morgana takes her last breath and her eyes go glassy.  Merlin swipes away his falling tears and turns to the water, full of tiny blue faeries with their fluttering wings.  They have fashioned three boats upon the water.  Arthur is already in one.  Merlin picks Morgana up and places her in the other.

Merlin turns to the Sidhe elder then.  “Thank you,” he says.  The tiny faery bows his head and asks Merlin to get in the empty boat.  He does as he’s told.

The elder whispers a spell and Merlin feels the world go fuzzy.  He can barely remember the boat drifting pout across the lake or of seeing Freya’s face among the serene flow, and then everything goes dark.

He will awake years later, two Pendragons at his side, and a whole new destiny to partake in.


End file.
